The Day I Died
by TesubCalle
Summary: Alex Taylor's thoughts during the course of a bad day. SPOILERS for season finalecharacter death. Pls rr.


**Author's Note: **I'm an occasional viewer of Third Watch. But I had to write this. Characterization may be off, but this episode would not leave me alone. I think we're all going to miss Alex. 

_Why does it always have to be me…_

I'm fuming. 

I'm complaining that I get stuck on the bus when I shouldn't be. And it happens more frequently than I like. At least that's what it seems like to me. 

I'm mouthing off at Doc. I'm supposed to be fighting _fires._ Fighting fires is in my blood. Like my daddy. 

The paramedic gig, that was only because the department wasn't hiring when I wanted in. 

I don't let up on Doc, and boy, he's taking my rant pretty graciously. And I'm not saying these things to him because I think he's a chauvinist pig; he's not. But he's got to know that I'm not going to be satisfied with this role every time. 

I'm too irritated to make small talk the rest of the way.

OK, multi-vehicle accident. There's a cyclist trapped under a car. Looks serious. Another car with two elderly occupants. They're conscious, the usual cuts and bruises, but I can tell they're shaken up. The other vehicle is void of a driver or passenger. Small fire burning under the hood; some upholstery inside is aflame. Nothing to worry about yet – fuel line isn't in jeopardy. Now it's my duty to make sure that couple is reassured and their injuries tended to while the mortally injured are helped. That's triage for you.

I'm still in a snit when Doc calls something out to me, and I turn away in disdain. The elderly couple notices. Ask me if I don't like him. No, I like him, I explain. It's just that I want them to know I'm not just another paramedic. I'm a _fire-fighter._ I fought hard for that role, and I am not about to allow myself to be easily subdued and made to assume a position of not necessarily less importance, but one I know I am above. I don't enjoy being taken for granted; that I'll be content to be put where I'm placed; good ol' Alex won't mind riding the bus today. Forget it. My daddy wouldn't have settled for it. 

The elderly man tells me he's glad that at least for today, I did ride the bus with Doc. I understand what he means, and for a moment I soften and agree with him. My being here is a comfort to them in a traumatic experience. Just being able to hold a hand can make all the difference in the world in a crisis.

Lieu has been yelling at me every so often to get down away from the car. But I'm not particularly worried. As I'd explained to the frightened couple, the fire is in the engine block. We shouldn't be in any imminent danger. But Lieu is insisting. Maybe he knows something I don't. I just needed to stay as long as I did to calm these folks. 

I feel a blast of gathering heat and a wall of flame surging towards me before I even hear a sound. For a moment I cannot get my bearings. My lungs are being seared. Now I'm on my back on the hot asphalt, my prone arm outstretched. Something lands next to me a split second after I do, and my nostrils are assailed by the stench of charred flesh and rubber. I dare not turn my head. 

I realize something big has happened. Something knocked me off my feet. Can't feel anything. I'm in shock, that's what must be happening. Oh, pretty soon the adrenaline rush will be over and I'll hurt like hell. 

Carlos. His concerned face comes into focus above mine. I sense Kim and Ty nearby as well. Carlos looks confused. Shocked. Concerned because I'm down. 

I find my voice, which to my own ears is surprisingly lucid and strong. 

"How am I doing?" 

Carlos tells me that I'm fine and that I'll be okay. But it's the way he says it. It's the look in his eyes. It's the look that we give those badly hurt people who truly aren't okay and never will be.

I know I'm dying. And strangely enough, I find myself able to accept it without protest. 

Doc. I fleetingly think of what I've said to him today. I don't want to be remembered as a complainer, a whiner. And I don't want him to blame himself for this. I can't see where he is.

I can hear screams of agony. They are screams I've heard only from the mouths of burn victims. Somebody else must have gotten caught in that wall of flame. I can't tell whom. Why have I been spared that agony?  But, oh, my mother…Not after what happened to daddy. She can't lose me. 

"My mother…" I hear myself say before I even know I'm forming the words, as I struggle to maintain my tenuous hold on consciousness.

Carlos looks at me, eyes wide, waiting for me to continue. 

"…tell her it didn't hurt." I hope that my words will give her comfort.

And now I feel myself being raised gently, rushing past Carlos, _through_ him if I perceive what is happening correctly. I'm in an embrace; warm, comforting, peaceful and full of more love than I have ever felt in my entire life. Everything else seems so far below me. I know I am in my daddy's arms at last. 


End file.
